The speeding car came out of nowhere, crashed through the hedge with a horrendous sound as its muffler slammed into the curb with a shower of sparks and continued at high speed across the well-manicured lawn.
Stan and Kenny barely threw themselves out of the way in time to avoid being hit. Kyle wasn't so lucky; the car hit him head on and he flew through the air, landing in a crumpled heap in the front yard of Clyde's house twenty feet away.
"Kyle!" Stan shrieked, jumping to his feet and taking a step to run toward his fallen friend. Kenny grabbed his arm and held him back.
"Stan...let me go, okay?" Kyle wasn't moving at all (although the car had finally come to a stop, steam rising from under the hood; whoever had been driving it was slumped over the steering wheel). Kenny had seen death enough times that he was certain he was about to see it now, in one of his best friends. He knew Stan wouldn't be able to handle this.
Stan's face was ashen, and Kenny left him to hurry over to Kyle. He expected to find him lying dead, but what he saw was just as frightening: Kyle was alive and his eyes were aware as they met Kenny's, and there was blood, way too much blood, under his head and staining the grass.
"Someone call 9-1-1!" Stan screamed; Kenny looked around and saw at least two people already were. Clyde's dad had opened his front door holding a phone to his ear, and Butters was already shouting into his phone. He looked back down at Kyle, who was trying to sit up.
"No, Kyle," Kenny said, carefully holding him down with a hand on his shoulder. "Don't try to get up. Help is coming." He could already hear sirens approaching. "Just lie still."
Stan joined him, kneeling on the grass on the other side of Kyle's head. "You're going to be okay, Kyle." He was crying as he and Kenny's eyes met, and Kenny almost wished Stan wouldn't promise something he wasn't sure was true.
